city pome 2, 17 May 2011.

Contained and constrained,
holding only the barest bit of exuberance,
tiniest sparkle of life flaring
illegally in your hand,
moving on and through,
along this vein–
toward a
pulling,
drawing
of the
heart,
the
nar-
row-
est
line,
the finest hold on life.

You arch and slide through,
balletic,
again
hurtling home
for your one singular reason.

I didn’t know how well these would go over, but I was kind of burned out on talking up the latest hole-in-the-wall-eatery/retard driver/unintentionally funny signage. I didn’t feel like I could do it in an interesting way any more. I thought people might not like the poems–“You’re supposed to be sharing information of value to me, dammit, not these self-indulgent missives–save those for your own blog!” but then I thought, well shit, this poem will do everybody just about the same amount of good as a post about the latest cool upcoming arts & crafts fair. So, yeah. :)

LM, If I’ve never said it before, let me do so now: You Rock. The oooooonly time you come to within even a half-a-block of not rocking is when you second guess yourself in the wake of any “save those for your own blog” loser who says you do not rock. Fuck them. Fuck all them “who might not like the poems.”